When the sunshine escapes through the clouds and into my bedroom, breaking through a window, showering my lethargic morning with promise and happiness, lifting in an instant my eternal winter depression – I am reminded of better times, better places, better climbs.
Memories of sand beneath my toes (& in my ears & in my knickers & up my nose), waves carrying me in a direction only the ocean knows, evenings so hot that hours pass without even a care; air so heavy it feels like a never ending hug bringing endorphins, contentment and a perfect satisfaction.
Wooden Boats with Theatrical names
and strangers now acquaintances bonding over their worldly differences.
Long days spent on the grass, the friendliness of strangers, the ease between friends. Days with no concern for tomorrow and bountiful freedoms in the present. ‘Why do we suffer through winter?’ I ask myself. Why do we endure grey skies, rain and what feels like an eternity of coldness?
As summer rears its gallant head, I remind myself of my only unfulfilled promise; I will never again endure a British winter. I will spend it in a happier, hotter, far away land. Yet here I am, another winter coming to an end. And was it really that bad? Concluding to myself that ‘yes, in fact it was’, I vow that this will be my last winter spent in my homeland.
Image courtesy of Etienne Girardet